Page 81 of The Wayward Duke
They worked to gather the materials, alert for any more traps Kellerman might have set. But their search found nothing beyond an extra pistol and box of lucifer matches tucked in a floorboard cache, like an afterthought. Soon, they were leaving, satchels laden with coded papers.
33
Sunlight slanted through the windows of Caroline’s art studio, spilling over polished wood floors and glinting off the easel splattered with paint. The earthy tang of oils mingled with the reek of turpentine, perfuming the air with the familiar scents of creation and destruction.
Caroline stood before her canvas. With small, controlled strokes, she brought the meadow scene to life in vivid hues, losing herself in a world far removed from the coded documents scattered across her worktable like fallen leaves. One page after another, filled with columns of numbers and threats penned in the heavy scrawl of a familiar hand.
The creak of floorboards made her look up. Julian paused on the threshold, sin given form even in his exhaustion. The way those pale blue eyes raked over her body made Caroline’s belly flutter. She loved the way he looked at her.
“Don’t let me interrupt,” Julian said as he carried the fresh trove of papers inside. “Carry on. Would you like me to pose naked for you?”
Caroline bit back a smile. “Strictly landscapes today, you scoundrel. But I appreciate the offer.” She set her brush down and turned to face him. “What progress have you made decoding that mess?”
He crossed the room and deposited the documents on her worktable. “I’ve organised it all as best I could. Columns of numbers, shipping schedules, unsent threats penned in Kellerman’s sloppy fist…”
Caroline moved to his side, her skirts whispering over the floorboards. Her eyes skimmed over page after page of unintelligible figures and symbols, meandering lines of text. Kellerman’s hand was as familiar to her now as Julian’s.
“He seems rather besotted with you,” she mused. “First, he tries to shoot you, and now he’s writing you love notes. I hope you won’t abandon me for this newer, angrier suitor.”
Odd, to think she had become almost an afterthought in the game Kellerman was intent on playing with the Duke of Hastings – merely a means to provoke Julian into reacting.
Into making a mistake.
“Yes, nothing quite stirs the blood like written threats from a deranged killer,” Julian said.
“Well, I can hardly fault the man for his infatuation,” Caroline replied. “At present, half the ladies in thetonare ready to steal you. Why not include a murderous criminal in the mix?”
Julian’s response was to grasp her about the waist and pull her against him for a hungry kiss. Caroline sank into him, lips parting beneath the onslaught.
“I hope that answers your question,” he murmured.
She rested her hands on his chest. “Well. Maybe I should defend your honour, then, duke? Should I challenge him to pistols at dawn?”
“I’d prefer you avoid pistols, bullets, weapons or anything that explodes.” He turned his focus back to the documents, spreading them on the table beside the divan. “Now come over here and have a look at these.”
When he patted his knee in invitation, she settled onto his lap. His hands came up to knead the knots in her shoulders, working their way down her spine. She exhaled, the tension in her muscles unravelling under his ministrations. Julian always knew exactly how to disarm her.
“I’ve made some progress identifying patterns.” He gestured to the columns of foreign symbols and figures. “But the variation is sophisticated.”
Together, they pored over the nonsensical symbols filling page after yellowed page. He scribbled notes in the margins, elegant script flowing from his fountain pen. His fingers tapped out an irregular rhythm on the foolscap, matching the cadence of her heart.
When his fingertips slid beneath the thin muslin of her dress, tracing across her bare skin, it became impossible to focus. Caroline squirmed in Julian’s lap as his hand inched higher.
“Behave,” she murmured.
“You make it difficult,” he said, nuzzling her cheek.
She forced herself to take a deep, steadying breath. “Here.” She indicated a sequence of symbols repeated within the columns at set intervals. “A pattern. Shipping times?”
Julian frowned over the symbols, desire temporarily banked. “Can you work out where?”
She shook her head. “No, but this other page refers to renovations at a warehouse in Wapping. I’d wager that’s where he’s having supplies delivered. Incrementally, given the records.”
“Supplies.” Julian’s eyes sharpened. “You mean explosives.”
As Caroline reached for the page, Julian grasped her wrist. “I think you should go to Ravenhill,” he said quietly. “Until this is over.”
She bristled. “Absolutely not.”
